Agatha H. and the Airship City

secretary looked embarrassed. “Ah. Yes, I understand. No doubt they’ll see it as very generous. But if they continue to be difficult?”

Klaus whirled. “Then tell them I’ll have the Jagermonsters there in two days and the city council will be the labor!”

Boris smiled. “Yes, that should do it. Good day, Herr Baron.”

As the Baron’s secretary and a relieved von Zinzer left, Klaus leaned against a bank of controls and sighed. To Othar he remarked, “I swear, it is like running a kindergarten.”

“What is that, Tyrant?” Othar asked snidely, “Does your precious Empire give you no pleasure?”

Klaus frowned, and he straightened up. “No,” he admitted, “it gives me no pleasure. Politics always annoyed me, and now I have to play it every day. I despise the whole business. I haven’t seen my wife in years—”

Othar started violently. “Your who?”

Klaus ignored him. “I haven’t traveled or explored—”

“Who exactly is this wife you mentioned?”

“At least with the Heterodynes we had the adventures. The occasional fight. We expected people to at least be able to govern themselves after we cleaned the monsters out for them. Well I won’t make that mistake again. Now I just send in the armies, then the bureaucrats with mops. Same old formula, over and over again.” He stared darkly at something only he could see, then shook himself free of his reverie and turned back to Othar. “Well, we do what we must. But I will confess that one of my few pleasures is in these rare moments of research.” He patted Othar on the head as he started up the drills again. “So hold still, and rest assured that I am going to enjoy this very much.”

Othar braced himself as the device began to descend, when a fussy voice from the doorway broke in. “Your pardon, Herr Baron?”

Klaus froze. Then slowly and deliberately stopped the drills, removed his goggles and then turned towards the door. “Yes?”

he asked politely.

At the door stood one of the Lackya in a state of high indignation. Standing beside him was a sullen Theopholus DuMedd.

“Sorry to disturb you, Herr Baron,” the servant said in a voice that clearly didn’t realize how annoying it was, “but young DuMedd here refused to report for grease trap duty this morning. He had hidden himself in one of the smaller machine shops.”

“I wasn’t hiding,” DuMedd said testily, “I was working.”

Klaus looked interested. “Working? On what?”

“On an automatic grease-trap cleaner, Herr Baron.”

A large hand came up to try and hide a small smile that vanished instantly from the Baron’s face. “Ah—hmm. Potentially useful, certainly, Herr DuMedd, but I must insist that such things be pursued in your free time. Think of this duty as inspiration.”

DuMedd rolled his eyes. “I have a surfeit of inspiration, sir.”

Klaus turned away. “Well, if that is all—”

Suddenly Othar shouted out, “Don’t be too clever, lad, or you’ll be on this slab next!”

“Silence!” Klaus roared. He swung back to Theo and fixed him with a piercing glare. “Master DuMedd is aware that he is under my protection.”

DuMedd nodded vigorously. “Of course, Herr Baron.” He said cheerfully, “Very much aware!” With a large grin on his face he moved towards the door. “I apologize for causing you any annoyance, Herr Baron. I’ll just be getting back to those grease traps. In fact, I’ll put in a little overtime! Yes sir!” And then he was gone, the sound of his running boots echoing down the corridor was cut off by the closing of the inner door.

The Lackya did not see Klaus move, but suddenly found the lapels of his greatcoat clasped within an immense fist and a furious Klaus inches from his face.

“Idiot!” He said through clenched teeth, “You were told to never bring any of the students into this lab!”

“But, Herr Baron, the guards outside said—”

“You like to listen to them? Done! You are now a Jager orderly until further notice!”

The Lackya went white. “No, Herr Baron! Please, I—”

“I could have you shipped to Castle Heterodyne?”

The terrified construct visibly considered this option, then sagged in the Baron’s grasp. “Yes, Herr Baron.”

Klaus flung him away. “Get out.” The Lackya spun about and silently vanished.

“Confound that idiot!” Klaus muttered, “To jeopardize all my work with DuMedd—”

“That boy is not stupid,” Othar said. “A web of lies can unravel at the lightest touch of the truth!”

Klaus whirled, smacked aside the massive drill, snatched up a scalpel, and grasped Othar’s face in his other hand. He grinned fiercely. “This will hurt slightly less if you don’t move.”

A voice sang out from the doorway. “Ta-daaa! I am here!”

“GIVE ME STRENGTH!” Klaus screamed as he drove the scalpel into the table scant centimeters from Othar’s face. Composing himself, he turned about. “Bangladesh DuPree,” he acknowledged.

“That’s right! It’s me!” A tall, shapely young woman sashayed into the room. Her dark east Indian complexion was complimented by the crisp, white airship captain’s uniform she wore. Her long black hair cascaded down her back until it was gathered in a series of small tufts. Ornamenting her forehead, a small skull-shaped bindi glittered.

Bangladesh was one of Klaus’ freelance agents. She patrolled the wilder parts of the Wastelands, and was occasionally dispatched when circumstances warranted the use of a barely controlled homicidal maniac.

Bangladesh’s mother had been a pirate queen, ruling one of the small remote islands of the North Sea. The princess Bangladesh had been away when the island populace had revolted and her mother was slain. Determined to avenge her, Bangladesh had taken up the family business, and ruthlessly built up her own organization of air pirates, which had quickly earned a fearsome reputation throughout Scandinavia and northwest Europa. Preparations for the assault to reclaim the family island were almost complete when she had returned from an expedition only to find her fortress a burnt-out hulk, her fleet in ruins, and her crew dead or vanished. There was no clue as to who had destroyed them.

Then and there, she took a bloody oath upon her family’s malevolent god to avenge them, but until she could discover who was responsible, she needed a job.

To her surprise, she was recruited by Klaus Wulfenbach. Klaus had followed her career from a distance, and realized that having Bangladesh working for him would be preferable to eventually having to fight her.

Bangladesh had accepted his offer on the condition that the Baron’s intelligence gatherers seek out those who had destroyed her base. Klaus had agreed. However there were no other similar incidents, and in the subsequent three years, Klaus had successfully found useful avenues in which to channel DuPree’s murderous tendencies for his own ends. When correctly applied, she was terrifyingly efficient.

There was also, he had to admit, something fascinating about her. DuPree was disarmingly open about her thirst for blood and destruction, and Klaus found that he enjoyed the challenge of keeping her in check. She was also one of the very few people who displayed absolutely no fear of the Baron whatsoever. She treated him like an equal in all things, which made for a refreshing change in some respects, though her familiarity sometimes caused him great annoyance.

She was also one of the nastiest fighters Klaus had ever seen. With some trepidation, he had asked that she instruct his son in combat techniques while he was in Paris. To her surprise, Gilgamesh had survived her instruction, and proved an apt pupil, though he had acquired several scars, some of which were physical.

Klaus was positive that he could take DuPree in a fair fight, but was equally positive that he’d never have a chance to prove it.

“I heard that you wanted to see me, and I knew you wouldn’t want to wait.” She got about halfway into the room when she saw Othar. A look of concern crossed her face. “Say, what are you up to here?” She looked at Klaus suspiciously. “Klaus, are you torturing this man?”